


Having Mercy

by SatsunonSavior



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Love, Lube, Oral Sex, Romance, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7144556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatsunonSavior/pseuds/SatsunonSavior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, it was like this every time he saw her.</p><p>She hadn’t changed a bit. And yet, she was different somehow. Or maybe it was him that had changed.</p><p>Angela Zeigler, his angel, looked up from her paperwork and smiled at him, robbing him of the powers of speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Having Mercy

 

It had been so easy, to start with. Just like the old days.

Not the recent ‘old days’, with the media crucifying him alive and Reyes handing them the nails, but like the _old_ -old days. In the new Overwatch he wasn’t a leader, wasn’t a ‘face’, wasn’t a spokesman. He was a soldier, just like he’d always been. And he had his friends back. All but one.

Still, it had been tricky, a couple times.

 

* * *

 

“Bloody hell, I’m hit!” Tracer gasped over the radio, “I’m bloody hit!”

Jack rushed past a pair of defenders, pausing only to empty his rifle into one of them. The other one spun ponderously, the barrel of its weapon tracking him with sluggish inevitability. He braced himself, but the pain still drove the breath from him as something slammed into his shoulder and floored him. He raised his rifle and blew the second Omnic away with the underslung helix missiles of his rifle. That done, he flipped up into a crouch and darted closer to the embattled Overwatch agent.

“Guys!? I need some help here!” Tracer’s voice was panicky; the berserk Omnics they were here to stop were converging on her position, and she was wounded into the bargain.

“Lena, hang tight!” he barked over the radio, sprinting for her position. He picked off a pair of Assault-bots crossing the open ground and fired wildly towards the next trio, only to catch himself a moment later and break off, cursing quietly.

 _You can’t suppress Omnics, old man,_ he reminded himself, _They have no sense of self-preservation, no fear of the stray bullet that cuts your fight short, no instinctive drive to live._

Instead he threw himself into cover and reloaded, judging distances.

Only ten more feet. Nothing, really.

Who was he trying to fool? It might as well have been a mile. Ten miles.

“Seventy-Six, is that you?” Tracer called, not over the radio this time.

“Yeah! I’m almost to you!”

“I’ll come to you!” she shouted, and his eyes widened as she rose from her spot behind a pile of lumber.

She made it three steps- on the fourth, Jack tackled her, slamming her down behind the wood pile just as a hailstorm of shots shredded the abandoned car he’d been sheltering behind, and that she had been heading for.

“Idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed!?” he growled, “Honestly!”

“Hey, cool it old man!” Tracer spat, “I don’t tell you how-”

“Can it!” he barked, “You _always_ do this! You get cocky, you get hurt and you never, _ever_ learn!”

Tracer stared at him, her eyebrows climbing.

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are, love!?” she asked, almost too incredulous to be angry.

He snapped his mouth shut.

_Stupid, Jack, stupid! You’re not her father, and you’re not her damn Commander anymore either!_

“None of your damn business, get your head in the game!” he bluffed, raising his rifle and re-engaging.

Tracer’s pistols joined him a moment later. He ceased fire, letting her take over and dropped the rifle. Seconds later he was tugging one of Mercy’s biotic fields from his belt and deploying it with a twist and jab into the ground. It hummed softly, and Tracer sighed as a faint yellow light swept over her stomach, where she’d been wounded.

“Is it bad?” he asked, craning his head to get a better look. She turned and stared him down, her eyes frosty. His heart broke, just a little. Lena never would have looked at him like that before…this.

“None of your damn business,” she repeated, mimicking his growl in mockery, “Get your head in the game.”

He shrugged to disguise how much the gibe hurt him and opened fire once more. Destroying the wild Omnics soothed a little of his anger, at least until Tracer swept back to him once more.

“And that’s _Tracer_ to you, love,” she spat, “Lena is what _friends_ call me!”

Yep. Definitely the good old days.

 

* * *

 

Lena was the worst case. The others didn’t give him nearly as much trouble.

Reinhardt was…not to put too fine a point on it, ‘easy to fool’; Winston had his nose in a new invention so often that he’d only _looked_ at Jack about twice since he’d joined; and Fareeha…well, aside from seeing his old friend’s face on a startlingly young girl’s body, there were no problems there.

The new members didn’t know him, by and large. And he didn’t just mean know him personally. They didn’t even know ‘about’ him. Oh sure, they knew Strike Commander Morrison. They knew that he’d killed a million Omnics, saved a million people and that he’d died in a terrible accident.

They didn’t know Jack. Pun _definitely_ intended.

They didn’t know, like the old crew did, the beer that he liked, or his mannerisms or his habits.

They didn’t know the way he would check up on them, one by one, after a mission. Share a few jokes, a few words. Calm everyone down.

They didn’t know the way he laughed at Lena’s bad puns, or the way he’d target shoot with McCree (thank god _he_ was vacillating on rejoining Overwatch- the man was as sharp as an unexpected floor tack)

They knew the legend, not the man; and people don’t look for legends in old men.

Yes, the others were easy to fool, when he didn’t let too much of himself slip.

Except…except one person.

 

* * *

 

“Seventy-Six, Mercy’s been yelling for you for like, half an hour!” Lucio said brightly, with the tone of someone who saw trouble coming, but realized that it wasn’t aimed his way. Jack groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He half expected to feel it come out thanks to the stress.

“Thanks kid,” he said gruffly, waving him away. Lucio slid past, his headphones already back on.

 _Kid is right,_ he thought to himself, _God, was I ever that young?_

He strolled towards the medical wing, taking his time about it. He caught himself mid stroll, and turned it into a march. Mercy wanted him, huh? The thought made him smile.

Ten feet later, he caught himself smoothing down his hair. He let out a growl of frustration.

_Damn it, Jack, get over yourself. You have to be smart. Angela’s a genius. This isn’t like fooling Reinhardt._

He stepped up to the entrance of the medbay and rapped his knuckles against the door. In the silence that followed, he caught himself brushing some imagined dust from his jacket. He clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath.

“Come in!” said an unmistakable voice.

He slid the door open and stepped inside, like a man going to a firing squad.

 

God, it was like this every time he saw her.

She hadn’t changed a bit. And yet, she was different somehow. Or maybe it was him that had changed.

Angela Zeigler looked up from her paperwork and smiled at him, robbing him of the powers of speech.

She hadn’t changed. The lines of her face were the same as always, smooth and girlishly pretty despite her age. Her eyes were the same warm blue, sparkling with intelligence and empathy. Her figure-

He looked away sharply, glad that the mask hid the direction of his vision. Even in a long skirt, blouse and lab coat, it was clear there had been some…improvements there. She’d definitely _matured_ somewhere past age thirty, and _good god_ he was too old to be popping a tent looking at a fully clothed woman, no matter how ‘mature’ her figure. He coughed and walked oh so casually across the room, coincidentally behind one of the waist-high exam tables.

“So, what can I do for you, doc?” he asked, deliberately avoiding her name. He’s seen Angela twice so far, and it had been absolute hell not saying her name, not reminiscing, not unburdening himself of the guilt and the shame and the lies. He’d hoped the pain would lessen with exposure, but it seemed to be _growing_ instead _._

“You’ve been avoiding me!” she said cheerily, and his heart lurched, at least until he saw her joking smile, “I’m supposed to do a medical exam for each new team member. Yours was due weeks ago, but we kept missing each other. Bad luck, I suppose.”

Jack kept his face stoically blank. Actually, it had taken lots of persuading and at least one backdoor hacking attempt to make sure they _kept_ missing one another, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Oh. I never really saw the point of all those. I gave you my blood type,” he said. She rolled her eyes, a gesture that summoned a painful little pang of remembrance somewhere deep in his chest.

“Well then, the door is right there,” she said sarcastically, “Seeing as your blood type is all I could ever _possibly nee-_ ”

“Alright, alright doc, drop the sass,” he chuckled despite himself, “What do you need to know?”

“Everything!” she said seriously, spreading her arms wide, “A full physical, x-rays, even dental work. I can see from your face that you’ve had surgery before, and been injured- severely injured, even!”

He grimaced. This was _exactly_ what he’d been worried about.

“I uhhh…I don’t really go for physicals, doc.”

“Really?” her voice was desert dry, “Why ever not?”

“I get nervous.” He didn’t even try and sell that bad a lie to someone like Angela. She snorted.

“Of course. Big guy like you. You must be a bundle of nerves.”

He turned away, leaning his back against the table so that she wouldn’t see his face twist in pain. Talking to her at all was physically agony to him. Every piece of banter, every moment that he lied and kept his face from her was another twist of a knife buried in his guts.

“Can I at least get a male doctor?” he asked, throwing his last desperate ace.

“If we had one, I’d be happy to, but I’m the only doctor you’re going to get!” Angela said, hands on her hips, “Funding is so tight, you should be glad I can afford x-rays!”

“I’m overjoyed,” he said dryly, “Look doc, I really don’t care for all this stuff. Howsabout we just go our separate ways?”

“Gee, let me think about that…” she said, putting her finger to her lips theatrically, “Hmmmm… _no._ ”

“C’mon doc, an old guy like me? If I take a hit all you need to know is my funeral arrangements.”

She gave him an unimpressed look. He weathered it, though it pained him.

“Just cremate me and scatter me in the Overwatch section,” he joked lightly, “All my bullshit can be used as fertilizer!”

“The only way you’re leaving this room,” Mercy said as she stepped past him and slapped the door lock, “Is after I give you a physical. Understood?”

His mind and body warred then; the mind screamed that Mercy emphatically _could NOT_ find out who he was, while the body was far too fixated on the idea of Angela giving him a ‘physical’.

_Good god, it really has been too long._

 

_So, what do we do?_

_We play it out. No other choice._

He shrugged and slipped out of his leather jacket, hanging it on a nearby chair.

“Understood. Where do you want me, doc?”

“Ah, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Well then, strip off and get on the table.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, ‘Seventy-Six’, clothes off. This is a medical examination, not a fashion show.”

He flushed, around the mask, and tugged his shirt up over his head. This was _not_ a good development.

He reached his hand down to his pants and undid the belt slowly, attempting to buy time. Unfortunately his body and mind were teaming up on this one. As far as they were concerned, he was stripping out of his clothes in a small room with Angela. They knew how _this_ particular scene went.

He ducked his head as he tugged the pants down, kicking them off with a struggling motion that removed his shoes. A moments further struggle with his socks, and he was done. He levered himself up into a sitting position on one side of the bed, his arms folded over the most delicate portions of his anatomy. He left his tight black boxers on, and told himself that any wandering of Angela’s eyes was purely medical in nature.

She strolled around to face him, and then did something he’d feared since he’d met her again, since he’d met her as ‘Soldier Seventy-Six’. She tapped his mask and frowned at him.

“And this.”

“I err…I need that to see, doc,” he bluffed, but she was already shaking her head.

“No you don’t. It’s a tactical visor. Boys and their toys, I swear.”

He shook his head right back at her.

“Can’t do it, I’m afraid.”

That was the wrong answer. Angela might be the medic of their little team, but she was as stubborn as hell when she thought she was right. And she thought she was right, right now.

“Take. It. Off.” she said, like she was talking to a misbehaving dog.

“No can do.”

“I wasn’t asking, I was telling.” Her voice was hard, and she tapped the mask again, rapping her knuckles against it.

“I wasn’t debating, I was refusing.”

“Take it off, or I’ll sedate you and take it off myself!” her voice rose steadily, until she was shouting.

“Damn it, _Angela!_ ”

 

… _shit._

He bit down on the name as soon as he said it, but the syllables had already crossed the Rubicon, tripping out over his lips and tongue in their eagerness to ruin his carefully crafted disguise.

He could play dress up all he wanted, but only one man said her name like that.

She looked at him, then.

Really _looked._

And when she did, she saw him.

 

Nobody had ever accused Angela Zeigler of being slow on the uptake. Her face sank, her anger falling away into a gulf of sadness so deep that it broke his heart all over again. Her mouth slipped open, and her eyes welled with sudden tears. He bit down on his lip. He’d known her again for less than ten seconds, and he’d already made her cry. That was a new record.

He swallowed roughly, croaked out a word.

“A-Angela…”

“Is it you?” she asked, in a very small, very quiet voice. The way that a child prays- with so much hope that suddenly even her name was too heavy to speak, “Is it…really you, Jack?”

He nodded jerkily, his throat swollen shut. Tears began to streak down her face, ruining makeup so carefully applied that he’d barely even noticed it. She reached up, her hands trembling as they seized his mask, fumbling with the clasps. He reached up and helped her, his thick, solid fingers over her gentle, soft little digits. They lowered the mask together.

“O-Oh!” she cried out softly, her fingers tracing the scar that marred the line of his face, over the knotted white scar tissue and the age lines, and the imperfections, “Oh Jack, what have they done to you?”

“It…it was the explosion.” There was nothing else he could say.

She sniffled, her fingers exploring the lines of his face by touch alone, while her eyes fixed him with a fierce stare.

“You survived. And you _lied_ to me!” she almost growled at him. He raised his hands.

“I died,” he said simply. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Jack Morrison died that day, Angela. What he was, what he stood for? That didn’t matter anymore.”

“But…”

“They didn’t want me anymore, Angela. They wanted me gone, remember?”

She slid her fingers down his face, the long dexterous digits tracing the line of his jaw as she leaned into him.

“I never wanted you gone.”

He swallowed roughly, his hands on the table either side of him, not daring to touch her- as if she might break, or run from him, or-

“I know, Angela, I know.”

“Then why didn’t you say something!?” she said, and the dam broke. She began to sob, fat, angry tears that ran in rivers down her face. She raised her hands and curled them into fists, hammering them down against his chest and shoulders as she wailed.

“All this time! All these years! I _buried_ you! I _buried_ you, Jack!” she sobbed; half furious, half sorrowful, and all heartbroken. He caught her by the wrists, and pulled her in close, trapping her in the circle of his arms. She wept into his shoulder, turning the line of her body into him, her hands flat against his chest as If she might push him away.

She didn’t, though.

 

“I’m sorry, Angela, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his heart hammering at the joy of holding her in his arms once more even as the sound of her tears shattered that heart into pieces, “I’d ruined everything. I’d destroyed Overwatch, everything I’d ever tried to build, I didn’t think-”

“What!? You didn’t think I’d want to be with you?” Angela asked, incredulous, “You’re right! You didn’t _think!_ ”

“I didn’t. And I’m sorry.” He pressed a soft, delicate kiss to the top of her head, at the spot where the blonde spiral of her locks began, “I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

“Flowers,” she teased, sniffling again, her voice muffled against his chest, “You always bought me flowers.”

“I did?” he asked, smiling despite himself, “I do that often?”

“Every week,” she mumbled, “It’s how the others knew we’d made up after a fight.”

“I’ll buy you some then. The best I can get.”

She leaned back, not leaving the circle of his arms, but freeing herself enough to look up at him with red-eyes and mussed hair. He saw the swirling chaos of the emotions in her eyes; fading sorrow, rising hope, and steadily burning anger. He grimaced.

“I’m so sorry, Angela. Can you forgive me?” he asked, gnawing at his lip.

She ignored him, stretching out a hand to ruffle his hair, running her fingers through it with a delicate touch. He leaned into the gesture, sighing softly.

“You went gray,” she murmured, “I didn’t expect it.”

“Yeah…neither did I.”

“Seven years, Jack. Seven years.” she said softly. He winced at the hurt in her voice. “Seven years, and not a message. Nothing.”

“I thought you’d want to get on with your life,” he whispered, “I didn’t want to haunt you.”

“I wanted _you,_ Jack!” she said, her voice rising once more, _“I wanted my love back!”_

His heart broke, and suddenly he was the one crying, sobbing in her arms as they held one another.

“I’m so sorry, Angela, but-” he broke off, unable to breathe, “But Reyes…I killed him! I killed my friend, my best friend!”

“He was trying to kill you!” Angela insisted, her hands pulling him closer despite her anger. He shook his head jerkily.

“He was- he was still my friend. I killed everything; Reyes, Overwatch, everything that ever mattered to me except you. I thought…I thought maybe you’d be better off without me. I thought that if I stayed with you, I’d end up killing you too.”

Angela was silent, her arms looped around his neck, her breathing slow and steady.

“I…decided to be someone else…because being Jack _hurt_ too much.”

“But now you’re back?” she asked, her voice a bare whisper. He nodded.

“But now I’m back. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

 

She was silent still, and he didn’t think he could draw another breath until she forgave him, but he did, rasping it in shakily through lungs that seemed about to give out.

“I…I hate you, Jack Morrison.” Angela’s voice was a low, furious whisper, “But…but I love you, too.”

He held that fragile breath, his hands tensing on her.

“And…And I don’t think I could bear to see you leave me again.”

She slid her arms down from around his neck, taking his head in both hands and pulling down into a fierce, sweet, _perfect_ kiss. Her lips were feverishly hot, and he could taste the salt of her tears on them, over the intoxicating blend of tastes that were so impossibly _her_.

The kiss lasted only a moment as she drew away. She opened her mouth to speak.

Jack covered it with his.

She squeaked in surprise, but then he was kissing her, and his warm, strong hands held her in place so that all she could do was kiss him back. She did, and took her time doing it, relearning the shape of his mouth, smoothing away the clumsiness of their kisses with a gentle passion. Those firm hands slid down her body, tracing the outline of her hips reverentially, and she groaned into his mouth. To say that they had missed one another was like saying that a fish misses the sea.

Without the other, they had never really felt whole.

She ran a hand through his hair, remembering the pale blond it had used to be, and not caring a bit at the way it had changed. He pressed the tip of his tongue to her mouth, begging entry, and her lips parted, welcoming him home. Their tongues twined together, first clumsily, then urgently. Someone was groaning slowly into the kiss, and he became dimly aware that it was him, letting out a low, possessive growl of pleasure as one of his hands claimed its traditional spot across her generous backside.

They parted only when the need for air became more pressing than the need for kisses.

Panting, Jack looked down at her with what he was sure was an idiotic grin. Angela looked up at him in turn, her cheeks flushed prettily, a glittering brightness to her eyes that no longer came from tears.

“Oh Jack, I’ve missed you,” she breathed. He was sure that at any moment, he’d wake up. Back in some ratty pallet in Mexico, or South America. Cold and alone and without her. But he didn’t.

“I missed you too, _Angel,_ ” he whispered, and she broke into a smile at the old nickname, though both of their eyes threatened tears.

Her hands traced the line of his shoulders, stroking across the scars that marked his broad chest.

“You never did take care of yourself…”

“It looks bad I know-”

“Hey now,” Angela’s voice held a teasing appreciation in it, “I never said you looked _bad…_ ”

He chuckled, and leaned in to kiss her brow, just below her hairline. When she pulled away from him, just a little, her eyes glittered with something far more passionate than tears.

 

“So…” she began, in a voice that stirred hundreds of shockingly intimate memories, “Is that your pulse rifle in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me again?”

He flushed, a full faced crimson blush that was as rare as it was crippling, only _now_ remembering that he was wearing a pair of black boxers and nothing else. And since he though baggy underwear was uncomfortable and unattractive, the real descriptor for his boxers would be ‘tight’.

He shifted slightly in his seat, becoming aware of the taut pressure at his hips.

_Yep, definitely tight._

He nearly leapt off the table entirely when he felt something _touch_ it, his eyes darting down to Angela’s fingertips, which traced the dark bulge at the front of his hips with almost maddening gentleness. She touched him slowly, relearning this part of him too, her fingers teasing across his waistband, moving to free him from that aching confinement.

“H-Hey, moving a little fast aren’t we?” he said, shocked at how hoarse his voice was, “Don’t wanna have dinner or something first?”

“No,” Angela whispered, wrapping her fingers around him, drawing a shaky breath from his lips, “No I don’t. Afterwards, perhaps? It’s been seven years. I can’t wait any longer.”

_Oh good god in heaven, he was doomed._

“I remember-ahhh!” he gasped as she stroked him- slowly, experimentally. The sensation of another person’s hands on him- a woman’s hands on him, was intoxicating, almost dizzying. Her fingers were so soft, so smooth, so…

“G-gently!” he hissed, “It’s…it’s been a while.”

She chuckled quietly, guiding his mouth down to hers for another kiss, or a series of them, each fierce little meeting of their mouths driving him more and more wild.

“For me too,” she admitted through her flush, between the urgent string of kisses.

“Yeah?” he was absurdly pleased by that- not that he was bothered by the thought of her with another man, but it was still a nice thing to hear, “How long?”

“Four-mmph five years?” she hazarded a guess, “At first I mourned, then I threw myself into my work, then I tried to find someone, only- only I was still mourning, inside. Nothing worked out, and I never really…”

“It’s okay,” he muttered, kissing her again, pressing back the grief before it could take hold again, “It’s not an interrogation, Angel, there’s nothing you could say that would walk me outta here.”

She smiled sweetly at him, and gave him a firm, intimate squeeze, making him gasp.

“What about you?” she asked, “How long have you been saving _this_ up?”

“Oh you know…” he said, looking away, “About seven years…”

“Goodness, you mean-”

“Yeah, I guess…” His face burned hotly, and he wasn’t sure quite why, except that her delighted smile seemed to be igniting something deep inside him.

“Well,” she mused, “We really ought to take care of it now, then…”

“Are you- nngh you sure?” he asked, his fingers brushing down her cheek, “You don’t want to wait, think this over, maybe-”

“No.” Her voice was firm, “You always were the cautious one, Jack. I know what I want.”

He gave up arguing. She always won, eventually. But that was fine by him.

She smiled up at him and began to stroke him in earnest, her fingers still soft as silk against the burning heat of his erection, despite her firmer grip.

“I like it when you let me win,” she teased, “God, I missed this, Jack…”

He kissed her, more to hide the moan he made than anything else, but it only turned it into a fierce groan into her mouth that made her fingers tighten around him. He pressed his tongue into her mouth and claimed her, his hands exploring her body, groping at her backside, sliding up and across her stomach to cup one of her breasts, squeezing it gently.

She took all his desire, all his need, and gave it back in spades, their mouths melding, their tongues twining as she stroked him faster and faster and faster. He broke the kiss so he could moan louder, leaning back slightly as his eyes closed in pleasure.

“God, Angel that feels good!” he groaned, making her laugh.

“Does it now?” she mused, “Well this ought to feel even better…”

Her fingers loosened around him, and his eyes cracked open to see what was happening.

 

Heat- wet, soft _heat_ enveloped the tip of his cock and sank slowly downwards. For a moment he thought that somehow she’d stripped off in the blink of an eye, until he felt the slow, pulsing trace of her tongue across the underside of his member, and his eyes blinked down at Angela’s blonde hair, like a sheaf of gold spread messily across his hips, half veiling her face as she took him into her mouth.

He groaned desperately, his hand immediately winding into her hair, clenching tightly. She hummed out her approval of the gesture, which only made the sensation better. He could feel himself losing control by the second, a fierce need rising in the depths of him. She began to bob her head up and down in short, urgent little motions, abandoning all pretense of teasing him. Her fingers worked over him, one hand rewarding every inch of him that her full, pink lips could not reach, while the other hand cupped his balls gently, rolling them in her fingers as if weighing them.

He panted and panted, struggling for breath. Her lips suckled at him while her tongue twined, tracing the line that delineated head from shaft. Her mouth and her hand moved in perfect sync, driving him inexorably towards the edge with relentless abandon.

Oh, this was _not_ good!

On the other hand, this was _very_ fucking good.

He tapped her shoulder with his free hand, her other mindlessly caressing her scalp, almost petting her.

“W-Wait, nngh Angela!” he groaned, “Angel, baby, I’m close, you’ve gotta-”

She drew back, pulling from his tip with a lewd popping sound, her hand still stroking urgently.

“Just let it out, Jack,” she said, in a voice so sweet that the arousal in it made him feel even dirtier, “We can take our time with the second round.”

“Hey, I’m getting on in years, Angel,” he argued, when he could find the air again, “A second nngh- second round isn’t such a guarantee anymore!”

She gave him a look that burned with desire, with _need_ , and he realized with a sudden start that with Angela in his arms, with his Angel? He could provide a second, third and fourth round all at once. She’d always had that effect on him, and age had seemingly only strengthened it.

Of course after that, he might need a glass of water and a lie down.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” she purred, “I believe in you~”

And then her lips kissed the tip of his cock once more, and parted, sliding down as her tongue graced the bulbous head of his member, lewdly imitating a French kiss. He groaned, fisting his hand in her hair once more as she began to bob in time to the stroking motion of her hand. Her other hand squeezed his balls lightly, as if coaxing him towards his climax, not that he needed much help with her tongue doing that-

“A-Angel!” he gasped, and she hummed approvingly, reminding him once more that she had no intention of moving. He felt the heat rise in his stomach and sweep down through his hips in a sudden rush.

He saw stars.

His hips bucked and thrust wildly, only restraining himself after the first couple of desperate motions. He came with a long, moaning cry as he released seven years of loneliness and bitter frustration, seven years of lies and guilt and shame, seven years without _her._ She eased him through it, her mouth bobbing gently, moving slower and slower, her tongue sweeping over twitching heat as he spent himself inside her mouth. She swallowed without question, her throat working rhythmically, only stopping when the last drops of him were lapped from his tip, and when his groaning moans of pleasure became too intense. His hand tugged gently at her hair, begging her to release him. He felt as if his whole body were burning, his hips melting into her mouth until he no longer knew where his climax began and his body ended. She pulled back slowly, achingly slowly, her hand squeezing his balls with the utmost care, her tongue swirling around his swollen head one last time before she freed him from the sensual confines of her mouth. She planted a little kiss atop the tip of him, and rose to sweep her hair back from her face, her mouth set in a satisfied smile.

 

_Definitely doomed._

Jack wiped away the sweat that had broken out across his brow, and grinned back at her. Not exactly what he’d been expecting when he’d slunk in here like a criminal going to the gallows, but he was _not_ complaining.

“So, what on earth possessed you to do that?” he gasped, his chest heaving, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well,” Angela mused, licking her lips, “I missed you.”

“I thought _that_ was obvious enough…”

“I missed all of you, Jack,” she said softly, stepping into his arms once more, leaning in to kiss him. He didn’t flinch away, and he kissed her with a slow, gentle passion, his hands molding themselves to the shape of her hips once more.

_After what she just did, I don’t think I’m in a position to complain…_

“I missed the way you look, the way you kiss, the way you smell, the way you _taste._ ” Angela’s eyes burned with a possessive fire, “But you’ve changed…so I suppose I wanted to learn you. This…new you.”

Jack let out a weak chuckle, “If you say so, Angel,” he said, kissing her again, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She groaned and leaned into him, trading kisses and quick, fierce motions of their nimble tongues in that close, heated embrace. She yelped as one of his hands slipped under her lab coat and caught the zipper of her skirt. Her hand settled over his as she broke the kiss.

“What’s the big idea, Jack?” she said, her eyebrows raised. He grinned.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He said that in a gruff almost-growl that sent blood rushing to her cheeks.

“S-So?” she said, trying to continue their banter while every muscle in her body told her to strip and mount him as quickly as humanly possible.

“Well I’m naked, so I figure you should be naked too.” His hand twitched, jerking the zipper of her skirt down halfway. She batted at his hand, but was distracted by the sudden pressure against her stomach. She looked down to see him firming up visibly, recovering far faster than expected.

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises?” she teased, giving him a grin.

“This from the woman who just turned down dinner so she could suck my cock,” he said dryly.

“That- mmmph, that was different!” she gasped as he tilted his head, his lips brushing over the pale skin of her neck. He chuckled, the sound ticklish against her, making her shiver.

“Oh?” he asked while nibbling at her, suckling with his lips gently. She made another small gasp and pushed at his face.

“Don’t yo-ahh dare give me a love-bite you brute,” Angela growled, “I’ll- oooh…”

She trailed off as his tongue burned a scorching little line up her throat, ending in another full-lipped kiss to her racing pulse. She sighed happily and leaned into him, letting his fingers unzip the skirt and ease it down. His hands caressed her hips, stroking over her tights and her underwear as he murmured;

“More clothes? Why even bother?”

She slapped his arm lightly and grinned, shrugging out of her lab-coat. It fluttered to the floor atop her skirt, and she slipped out of her shoes with quick, easy motions. One of those rough fingered hands caught her cheek, pulling her into another fierce kiss.

And then he had his fingers hooked into the waistband of her tights, and into the rather plain, sensible looking white underwear she was wearing. Well, it’s not like she’d expected _this_ to happen, after all. He tugged downwards, taking his time in the motion as he kissed her. She groaned into his mouth and lowered her hands to his. He paused, anticipating an objection, but all those soft-fingered hands did was speed the motion along, breaking off the kiss as she was forced to bend, sliding the thin material down past her knees. She struggled out of her tights and kicked the pooled clothes off her delicate feet before straightening slowly, her cheeks flushed pink as she noted the direction of his gaze.

A million worried thoughts slid through her brain in the few seconds of silence; she should have worn the _sexy_ underwear for once, she should have shaved, she should have-

“God, you’re perfect…” he whispered, and all her worries went away. She let out a choked little laugh, and kissed him again. When they parted, her voice was a breathless whisper.

“So…” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to ask. He grinned.

“Up on the table I think,” he said easily, his hands sliding over her bare hips, making her shiver. She began to move, only to pause and glance from his face down to his…enthusiastic looking erection. She swallowed, the old, old memories of their time together flooding her senses.

“One second!” she hissed, sprinting over to a cabinet. He stared after her, half out of worry and half just admiring the view as she bent to rummage through boxes. Ten seconds was all it took, and she was by his side once more, holding a little tube in her hand. She held it up, showing him the label.

“Personal lubric-” he blushed and raised an eyebrow, “You came prepared, huh?”

“Well, what can I say,” she almost giggled, clambering up onto the table awkwardly, “It’s been a really, really long time.”

 

“Here,” he said, his strong grip slipping under her shoulder, around her waist, lifting her up onto his lap with an ease that left her breathless. She straddled him at the very edge of the exam table, that burning rod of arousal pinned beneath her, rubbing against her slickness with every small shift of their hips. For lack of anything to say, he kissed her, and she melted into his arms. For a long while, that was all they needed, their mouths meeting, warring, taking absolute joy in one another’s presence.

It was Angela who broke the kiss first, uncapping the little tube and squirting out a generous little dollop of the lubricant onto her fingers. Then she wrapped the hand around the length that jutted from his hips. He yelped, jerking back a little. She gasped, shocked, and looked up at him in concern.

“Cold!” he said, half gasping, half chuckling. She burst out laughing, her hand working over him slowly, warming him back up, until his shaft was slippery and smooth beneath her fingers. Those fingers settled around the base of him, holding him steady as she lifted herself up. She almost lost her balance for a moment, until his hands settled across her buttocks, holding her steady. Then all it took was a small motion of her hips, and-

They gasped as one, their breath mingling as the head of his cock slid into her slowly. He closed his eyes, panting softly as she lifted herself, letting him slip out only to reenter a moment later.

“T-Tight,” she hissed, and he stroked a hand over her backside, easing her down, making sure that she took it as slowly as she needed. Her free hand looped around her shoulders and neck, supporting herself as she shifted downwards, easing another few inches into her. It wasn’t the length, so much as the sheer girth of him that spread her lewdly open, leaving her feeling obscenely skewered, her body rocked by pleasure spiced with twinges of pain.

“That’s it, Angel, I’ve got you,” Jack murmured, lowering her slowly onto him, until with a soft moan their hips met for the first time in seven years. She tilted her face up, pulling him into a slow, passionate kiss, twining her tongue with his. God, he was always so considerate. She’d forgotten that, somewhere along the line. His hands rested on her hips in a way that was so natural she couldn’t imagine them being anywhere else. She breathed in, and breathed out, letting her body grow used to the pleasantly thick intrusion, until the twinges of pain as she shifted slowed, then stopped.

“O-Okay,” she murmured, pressing little kisses to his muscular shoulders, “I’m good…”

His hands took their cue, tightening on her hips, her buttocks, lifting her slowly. The loss of him inside her was a teasing emptiness all by itself, until he dropped her, driving himself back inside in a rush. She moaned, louder than she had intended, her arms tightening around him.

“Too much?” he asked cautiously, and she chuckled at the concern in his voice.

“Just right,” she purred, and he moved again. This time she moved with him, rocking her body to lift her further up, using the long, lean muscles of her legs to drive her body back down onto him, their hips meeting with the slap of skin on skin. It wasn’t long before she found a rhythm, losing herself in the slick, sweet friction their motions provoked- the dizzying sense of emptiness constantly replaced with the thick, urgent presence of Jack inside her for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The easy, face to face position was perfect for them. For one thing, it let them kiss. She rode him, there in that little medical room, on the edge of a table, and it was perfect. Completely and totally perfect. Her mouth met his, and his hands held her, and each could feel the other’s heartbeat thrumming in time to the motion of their bodies. Jack pulled back from the kiss, nibbling at her lower lip with exquisite gentleness.

 

“It’s been so long,” he said, muffling a groan into her neck as he kissed at it urgently, “Since I got to make love to you, Angel.”

She just moaned in agreement, speeding the motions of her hips until she was bouncing quickly against his lap, the _slap-slap-slap_ of their skin growing louder and louder. Her hand found its way between her thighs, slipping into the space between their grinding bodies to find her clit. She felt, rather than saw Jack’s response to her urgent motions, his intuition for her pleasure as good as it had always been. He began to move his hips, putting the muscles she’d always found so intriguing to use, thrusting up into her, moving to meet her as she came downward. His hands gripped into her hips, fingers digging in so hard that it almost hurt.

She loved it. The way he held her, the way he kissed her, the way he _took_ her. It was like being…possessed. Not in a degrading way, not as if she were his plaything, but as if she were his treasure. His mouth worshipped her, tracing over the skin of her neck, suckling at her, giving her the love-bite she’d defended herself from only minutes earlier. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but only a strangled groan came out.

“G-God, Angela, I’m _close-_ ” Jack moaned into her ear, and that alone was almost enough to make her climax. She found some small iota of energy left unspent, and sped up, her fingers taking her closer and closer to the edge as Jack’s relentless hips pounded that oh-so thick length into her very depths, so deep that she felt it more as a pressure in her hips, a fire building in the pit of her stomach that threatened to overcome her completely.

“M-Me too!” she gasped, the words spat out as her head fell back, her hair falling in golden waves around her, “O-Oh, _scheisse!_ Jack, I’m coming!”

She came with a howl, moaning out his name to the ceiling as fireworks went off behind her eyes. Her hips rode him out of sheer instinct as her brain shut off, her hands knotted behind his neck to stop herself from falling backwards. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever come so hard, and even if she could, the memory was nothing compared to the full technicolor experience she was getting now- lightning shooting out from her core to send shivering shudders out to every limb.

When it passed, she was left panting breathlessly against him, her forehead pressed sweatily to his shoulder. She blinked, confused for a moment, feeling as if something were wrong. Then she felt the sheer tension of the muscles against her body- Jack holding himself very still, almost scarily restrained. She pulled back, looking up at him dazedly.

“Y-You…you didn’t?” she asked, aware that he was throbbing in time to the squeezing aftershocks pulsing through her hips. He chuckled weakly, his hands stroking idly over her hips, clearly having difficulty holding himself back.

“No protection,” he mumbled, “I didn’t know if it was safe-”

Her laughter cut him off, as she giggled to herself, the motion making him groan and clench his teeth.

“Oh. _Ohhhh._ You’re such a boy-scout, Jack,” she managed to say through the helpless laughter bubbling up out of her throat.

“Mmmph, answer the question,” he growled, and she shivered in arousal at the dominant tone in his voice. She rocked her hips slowly, once, bringing him out of her and back in with consummate grace. He let out a strangled sounding groan.

“Statistically speaking...” Her voice was teasing, almost merry, “It’s reasonably safe.”

“Angela!” he gasped, frustration and urgency littering his tone, “That’s not a good answer!”

“Jack, I’m thirty-seven,” she said, slapping his shoulder lightly, “Finishing inside me once is _not_ a big risk.”

“That’s a common misconception-” his voice was strained with the effort of holding back, but he still managed to find a joking tone from somewhere.

“Shut up, Jack.” Angela sighed happily as she began to move again, slowly, her hips grinding into his at the end of every thrust, “If you pull out, I’ll not mmph- not be happy, Jack. You’ve –nnngh made me wait this long, so go a-ahead and show me how much I mean to you.”

“Oh, _Angel,_ ” he gasped, his resolve failing him as she began to move again, matching her thrusts with his own, ragged motions. She felt him swell inside her, and clenched down on him, determined to give him the sort of climax she’d received only a minute or two before.

“Angel, I’m-”

“Come for me, Jack,” she gasped, “Please!”

He thrust upwards one last time, his hands tightening on her backside, pulling her down until her muscles could no longer overpower his grip. She gasped, loving the helpless feeling.

“Angel, god, I’m coming, Angel- _I love you!_ ” he moaned into the side of her neck. She felt faint, dizzy. Her face spread into a wide grin as she felt him spend himself inside her with a grunt, the clenching muscles of her core milking him dry with each ragged thrust he made into her.

_He loved her._

It had been worth the wait, every last day of it, to hear those words again.

 

And then it was over.

They lay together, Jack leaning back on his hands while Angela lay across his lap, his boxers back on. For her part, she held a little hand-towel between her legs while she leaned against his broad chest, taking pleasure in the closeness, in the scent of him.

“So…” she murmured into his ribs, “Are you going to tell the others?”

He tensed slightly, looking up at the ceiling. He blew out a breath.

“Maybe. Not today.” he admitted, tracking his gaze down to her, “Are you alright with that?”

“It’s your choice,” she said, patting his chest, “But I think it’s the right one.”

Companionable silence reigned then, time having little or no meaning to them in that little room. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice rough, low, and heavy with emotion.

“What about…me? Us?” he asked, swallowing roughly. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

“Us…” she said softly, “…I don’t know, Jack, I really don’t.”

She caught the helpless fear in his eyes, and smiled up at him, dipping to kiss his chest.

“Not like that. I love you, Jack. It’s just…seven years is a long time.”

“Yeah…it is.” His voice was rough, but he nodded along with her, “I love you too, you know that Angel?”

“Of course I do,” she tapped his chest again lightly in mock reproach, “I think we just need some time. To learn each other again.”

“To learn each other, huh?” he said, mulling over the idea, “Does that mean we can’t…err…”

“Oh god no,” she laughed, “I’ve missed you for seven years, I’m not wasting any more time.”

He laughed too, then.

 _She always did have a very…potent sex-drive,_ he thought with a grin, _Some things never change._

They lay together for a few minutes more, until Jack raised his head and spoke suddenly.

 

“Dinner then.”

“I beg your pardon?” Angela said, cocking her head.

“Dinner,” he repeated, “A meal normally eaten in the eveni-oof!”

“I know what dinner is you brute,” she said, slapping his chest for the _billionth_ time, “What about it?”

“Let me take you out for dinner,” he said, cupping her cheek with one of those strong hands, “Somewhere nice. We can talk.”

_Scheisse, the man could make a conversation sound like an orgasm._

His face grew closer to hers, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of his mouth on hers. The next words brushed over her skin, making her shiver.

“We can learn all about each other.”

“S-Sure,” she said shakily.

The kiss was everything she’d hoped it would be.

When they parted, she was out of breath again, her cheeks pink.

“Oh, and Angel?” he said, that nickname like honey on his lips.

“Yes?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“Thanks?” she cocked her head, “What for?”

“Having mercy.”

“Oh you son of a-”

**Author's Note:**

> My first hetero fic! Woop woop, writing dudes is hard, no pun intended.  
> Here's a little Jack/Mercy fic to keep you tiding over. Personally, I'm totally fucking torn between Jack/Mercy and PharMercy, so I'll probably write the latter a fic to balance things out at a later date!
> 
> P.S https://twitter.com/jenjenjenrose/status/740678931250958338/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw
> 
> Views and Kudos are awesome, comments are GREAT! And as always, thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm offering commissions at; Hiroshi_Nakano@hotmail.co.uk  
> And if you want to buy me ramen, you can at https://digitaltipjar.com/SatsunonSavior/


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